


There's Probably Something

by extentia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit of prose, Banter, Daddy Kink, If You Squint - Freeform, Steter - Freeform, because that's the way i think, it just kind of stops, just a bit of talking back and forth, no real cliff hangers, not plot but also not fluff, steter secret santa 2.0, wrote this but didn't finish it so i didn't gift it to my assigned person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extentia/pseuds/extentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles should have guessed as much, but when Peter got out of Eichen House he came straight for him. He had business not yet done. It almost made too much sense, but Stiles didn't want to think about that. Stiles would rather just live the life carved out for him at Peter's side. There wasn't much to do anywhere else, anyway. It wasn't as if human moral-compass Scott needed someone like Stiles at his side.</p><p>    "You're better served elsewhere," Peter told him, "You know too much, you think too much. It sickens Scott as much as his bland world-view sickens me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    Was Stiles sick or just a little bit different? If you asked Scott, he'd probably stake a claim on the innocence Stiles used to have. He was different before Scott got the bite and before the Hale's. He used to be human, used to be whole. He might never have valued life as much as a saint, and he might never have picked up a baseball bat only to drive into another man's head. If it weren't for Scott's lycanthropy, Stiles might have lived comfortably for the rest of his life, following in his father's footsteps like his mom probably wanted him to.  
  
    But things change. People change. Stiles definitely changed. He could liken himself to fire without feeling the Hale family's death inside of him. It was quite an accomplishment. Beacon Hills could no longer be Hale territory with only two insane werewolves left to bear the name.  
  
    True Alpha Scott was a relief for Derek. He was never meant to be king, all Lion King jokes aside. He was meant to be the support for a stronger person. He was supposed to be the enforcement, an order follower, and he had greatness and loneliness thrust upon him in one fell swoop of his claws. Good bye Uncle Peter. But nobody stays gone for long if their business is not yet done.  
  
    Stiles should have guessed as much, but when Peter got out of Eichen House he came straight for him. He had business not yet done. It almost made too much sense, but Stiles didn't want to think about that. Stiles would rather just live the life carved out for him at Peter's side. There wasn't much to do anywhere else, anyway. It wasn't as if human moral-compass Scott needed someone like Stiles at his side.  
  
    "You're better served elsewhere," Peter told him, "You know too much, you think too much. It sickens Scott as much as his bland world-view sickens me."  
  
    There was no full moon that night. The sun had just passed the horizon and the sky was grey with the first signs of winter. No more pink and orange sunsets with the Earth tilted so far on it's axis.  
  
    "I know what you can do and I know what you've done, Stiles."  
  
    Peter didn't look any more crazed than he did when he had Scott by the throat; the attempt to steal what can not be stolen.  
  
    "You were always wrong, you know?" Stiles admitted, "The true alpha? That power can't be taken. Scott dies and the power dies."  
  
    "Are you still trying to protect that beast? He's certainly not worth it."  
  
    No, Scott wasn't worth protection. Betrayal doesn't harden the heart unless you were close to stone already. Stiles recognized the familiar way Peter was looking at him: intense, steady, assessing. Maybe in another world, Stiles could be considered a threat to Peter, but the werewolf strength really does not lend itself to evening out the playing field.  
  
    "I'm just telling you. You were wrong. You got locked up for the stupidest reason. You're supposed to be the smart one."  
  
    Peter was the smart one, but that wasn't saying much. The Hale's were notorious cases of Anti-Social Personality Disorder, and it wasn't the cool kind where you're in control of everything you and other people do. Derek was the worst of the bunch, making the same mistakes over and over again, to the detriment of himself and others, taking badly calculated risks, manipulating for ends he hasn't even decided on yet. At least Peter had a goal: power.  
  
    "So where we going to find an unsuspecting Alpha?" Stiles asked.  
  
    Peter smiled away with wry humor, "Do you think that's why I've come to you?"  
  
    "Maybe. Is it?"  
  
    "It's possible I'm only here to send a message."  
  
    Stiles mind immediately went to Gerard. Did it suck to be beaten to a pulp by an old man? Yes. Would it suck infinitely more to be beaten to death by a psychopathic werewolf? He didn't know. Maybe, he'd find out.  
  
    "Thanks for the offer, but no. I have a paper and pen, though, if you want that. I also have some colored markers or crayons. It might take away the murderous effect, but it would be more fun to write. What do you say?"  
  
    Peter didn't respond, just raised a single brow. Was it a challenge? Stiles couldn't tell. Deciphering the non-verbal was not a strength of his.  
  
    "I could draw werewolf-you killing me in the bottom corner or something? If that's the thing you're going for?" Stiles fumbled over to his computer desk and pulled open a drawer, trying desperately to stay calm.  
  
    "I have brown. You're a brown wolf right? I mean, you have brown hair? Werewolves seem like they'd be brown. Well, it's pop culture. Anyway," he pulled out a 24 box of crayons and put them down next to an open notebook, "Have at it."  
  
    Peter smirked, "That's very becoming of you, Stiles," he teased, "If either of us were children."  
  
    Stiles shrugged, "So you're not going to write my ransom note here?"  
  
    "Decidedly not."  
  
    Stiles contemplated actually drawing himself and Peter on the paper. Peter would be on two legs, huge, with ridiculous muscles, probably drawn in pink like a dog's underbelly. He'd have funny, floppy dog ears, and between his teeth, a bloodied arm. He'd have Stiles' bloody arm in his jaw, ripped clean off from the unrecognizable drawing of a body underneath his feet. There'd be a pool of blood, colored in both bright red and dark red because one was the color of the fatal wound and one was the result of the superficial. Instead he just sighed and asked the question he was dreading.  
  
    "So what do you want?"  
  
    "I need a packmate. Not forever, unless you decide so, just until we replace another Alpha with-"  
  
    "With little ol' you?" Stiles deadpanned, mimicking a southern belle.  
  
    Peter grinned ferally at him, "Exactly that."  
  
    "If I agree, which doesn't mean I am, by the way! If I agree, what's in it for me?"  
  
    "You get to get out of Beacon Hills, for one. You could probably send Scott into a frenzy, if we made the house look like a struggle had taken place."  
  
    Stiles broke into a grin. He'd pay to see Scott's face when he finally came around see Stiles and instead found a wrecked house, reeking of Peter.  
  
    "Go on," Stiles prompted.  
  
    "I've been told road trips are an endless source of amusement for lower life forms, so you'd probably have a good time. Food, lodging, and eventually your way back to this god-forsaken place will be paid for by me."  
  
    "No threats?" Stiles was genuinely puzzled.  
  
    "An unwanted patron and unwilling participant does not a pack make." Peter countered.  
  
    Stiles squinted his eyes at Peter. He was just expected to be a surrogate pack member for Peter's, what, sanity? He must be desperate, unless he really meant what he said so long ago. Maybe he and Stiles were akin, the grey areas in the supernatural menagerie.  
  
    "Do you mean it? For real? If I want to stop at every other gas station for twinkies and mountain dew?"  
  
    "I would insist you just buy enough to keep you busy for a few hours at least. I'm not going to become your bitch, Stiles."  
  
    "Well, you are the one who said-"  
  
    "Shut up, Stiles."  
  
    "Shutting up."  
  
    A few moments passed before Stiles began speaking again, "So can we trash the house? I totally agree with that idea. Causing Scott emotional turmoil. Very good plan."  
  
    Peter answered by picking up Stiles bedside lamp and throwing it against the wall opposite them both. It shattered upon impact and a few shards bounced against Stiles.  
  
    "Can you at least wait until I've packed a bag? Getting sepsis from a cut on my foot doesn't seem like a notable way to die."  
  
    Stiles took to his closet and grabbed his recently washed gym bag and packed stuff into it. He took a variety of short and long sleeved shirts, jeans, and then socks and underwear.  
  
    "Uh, I'm not going to need a coat or anything, right?" He asked Peter, turning around and finding him gone.  
  
    Peter poked his head around the corner, "We're headed into Texas. No sweaters or coats."  
  
    He repacked with more appropriate clothing and then walked around his room for something entertaining to bring. Car rides are boring. Long car rides can be downright torturous. He throws the package of crayons into a different bag, along with a notebook, some pens, and after a little searching, a transformers coloring book.  
  
    "No phone," Peter grabs the charger from the bag and takes the phone from Stiles hand. "I'll buy you a new one."  
  
    He sets the device on Stiles desk and sits on it and faces him, "GPS, you understand."  
  
    It was like a flashback to their first meeting. He half expected to be pushed into a wall, or thrown over his desk, head bashed against the cold wood in a familiar wrongness.  
  
    "So pack with just you and I? That entails?"  
  
    Stiles is startled by Peter's arms wrapping around him from behind.  
  
    "Uh..." Stiles starts, shushed quickly by Peter.  
  
    "Packs touch. Since we'll have no alpha to connect us, I'll have to touch you more often than your friends touch each other. I trust that won't be too much of a problem."  
  
    Peter's pretty much just draped around Stiles figure. His head rests against Stiles shoulder and he's standing there, not pushing boundaries or doing any bad touch. It's oddly calming.  
  
    "Just stay away from the no-no square and you have yourself a deal."  
  
    Peter's voice is muffled into Stiles shoulder, but he keeps talking.  
  
    "Open communication, sharing spaces. It's likened to an emotional bond without the alpha to draw connection from."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >:
> 
> i did the update thing thanks for all the support goddamn it now i gotta say this is 2/? chapters but will i ever finish it!??!?! i dunno

    Okay so this was new. It wasn't that unwelcome but it was new. Contrary to what he was sure was popular belief, Stiles did not have attractive people falling all over themselves to be with him. And even if this wasn't that, exactly, it looked similar enough to passersby.

  
    So, Stiles wasn't going to complain. He was getting free food and truck stops were literally mini-convenience stores! He had to test what Peter said anyway. Because, what if Peter was lying? That's a Peter thing to do!

  
    It never really occurs to him what he would do if he found out Peter was lying. If the first time he grabbed an armful of nothing in particular along with his candy (just because he wanted it) and Peter told him to go put it all back he would have had to.

  
    Not because he was entirely broke, because even he wasn't stupid enough to go on a road trip with someone straight out of a supernatural lock-up ward without a backup plan. He would have to put it back because to waste his emergency-get-out-now-this-was-a-bad-idea fund would be a disservice to future Stiles. He was all about practicality.

  
    So in a brightly lit tiled station, he loaded an armful of sour skittles, that extremely melty peppermint candy stuff, a bottle of cherry vanilla coke, some new chapstick (Because it said raspberry flavored! How could he pass that up?), 2 magazines, and some toothpaste (that he had somehow forgotten to pack) on to the counter.

  
    Once he got up there, he noticed all the cool stuff lining the check-out and felt compelled - _Why not look Peter in the eye as I add more useless stuff to the pile?_ It was bound to be amusing. So he did.

  
    He piled on some dark chocolate bars, a new pretty lighter, and two packs of gum. All the while, he couldn't stop the shit-eating grin that spreads across his face.

  
    "That all you're getting?" Stiles teases, looking at the solitary bottle of water in Peter's hands.

  
    "Even if my insides don't have the ability to succumb to disease, if I were to eat any of that garbage, I'm sure nature would find a way to end me."

  
    "That's dumb! Enjoy life!" Stiles defended, "Nothing is as good in the world as rotting out your organs. It's a rite of passage."

  
    Stiles meant to reach out to run his fingers along the counter top but Peter stopped his wrist midway.

  
    "I think you have quite enough to last, don't you?"

  
    Well, if Stiles didn't want more stuff before, he did now.

  
    "But you said, and pretty much quoting here, 'Stiles, dear pack-member-mine, in exchange for your company, I'd love to buy you anything you want because I'm so thoughtful and nice and I know how deals work.'"

  
    Peter's grip tightened minutely before he let go and looked at him in what could have been apology.

  
     "Finish what you've already gotten before you get more." He grunted, handing the cashier the money she'd just requested.

  
    "But, Peter, that's reasonable! That's awful! How can you ask this of me." Stiles mourned, "What if I come across the next great thing and I can't get it because I still have a packet of gum left? Oh woe."

  
    "I am nothing if not a considerate alpha, Stiles, you just have to ask nicely."

  
    Stiles let out a gasp of laughter. Considerate alpha, ha, maybe in a different lifetime! But it was cut short by the realization that whatever kind of alpha Peter would end up being, he would be witness to it.

  
    "Please don't go crazy again. I don't want to have to run from feral-you again. Once was enough."

  
    Peter just grimaced back and told him the chances of that happening were unlikely. It didn't inspire much confidence in Stiles. Well, he thought, the verbal assurance was better than nothing.

  
    Peter, Stiles found, was not the type to roll all the windows down, crank the music, and lose himself on the road. No, his car was sealed up tight, the smell of soft leather permeating. The air conditioner was on, and while it wasn't cold yet it would be soon. He had the radio on but it was on eighties music! Eighties music! It was bad pop! It was awful! By the second time Madonna's name appeared on the radio's display he was groaning.

  
    When Paula Abdul's name popped up he had to run a hand down his face in frustration.

  
    "Paula Abdul? She had a music career? This is awful. This is so bad. Peter, I can't. I have to change it. I can't live like this anymore. I'm dying. I really think this is the end. This is so bad."

  
    Peter looked over to him, smirking, "You only had to ask."

  
    "Fucking little shit," Stiles grumbled, adjusting the dial and filling the car with a station playing classic rock. Classic rock was classic road trip music, in his opinion.

  
    While Stiles was lost in thought, Peter's hand came down on his thigh. Stiles jumped a full inch in surprise, fight or flight instinct kicking in unnecessarily. His heart beat sped up to racing level. Peter shot a look at him.

  
    "No this is fine, just, like, tell me when you're about to touch me." Stiles adjusted himself in his seat. Peter's hand was the warmest thing in the car. It had him wishing he'd brought a blanket or something.

  
    "When are we stopping for the night?" Stiles asked.

  
    "It's 5pm, Stiles." Peter griped, adjusting his grip on Stiles thigh to punctuate his sentences, "Must you ask now? I don't know. When we're tired."

  
    It's weird. It's pseudo-intimate and not uncomfortable, exactly, but unfamiliar. His skin isn't crawling like he expected it to, but how disgusted could he feasibly be with an attractive dude touching him consensually? Especially considering he could go feral at any point if Stiles decided to make him.

  
    Huh, that was a surprising revelation. Did Peter just trust him not to take that power too far? Did he have a plan for what to do if Stiles chose to leave him on his own? And, fuck, does Stiles ever want to find out? No, he decided, a resounding no. If Peter's going on a cross-country trip to kill someone for power, he would have no hesitation keeping Stiles bound the whole way there if it came to that, right?

  
    No, he definitely was not going to find out. In fact, that was his new goal: do not find out how desperate Peter is.


End file.
